Messiah
by Thorpeness
Summary: Blackmail, murder, mystery, love and a hell of alot of research went into this so please R & R.
1. Prologue

Prologue 

The once proud Geneva Chapel, now stood in ruins, blitzed by the mob. Its huge stain-glass windows, once full of light and colour, stood hollow, like gaping wounds in the walls. Shards of red and gold littered the floor. The pews had all been turned over by the mad rush of people, trying to get to the men responsible for destroying their children.

Splinters of angels lay where they had fallen on the floor, disembodied and broken, their arms and faces turned to the sky, imploring their God to help them.

In the centre, propped up against the altar, sat one man and his daemon, the last of his church, sobbing his heart out.

"Oh Niala, what am I going to do?" he said, his head in his hands, cheeks still drenched in tears, "All I was trying to do was help them."

"Maybe they were right?" she said, laying her delicate red head on his lap, "Maybe it was wrong to split people from their souls."

"But, what about Dust?" he asked, looking back at her, "We saw it, they showed us, there were photographs!"

"Maybe Dust isn't bad?" she said, slightly unconvinced.

"Then why don't children, the innocents have it?"

As they sat in silence, surrounded by wreckage, it was easy to believe that it was evil they were fighting.

"I'm such a coward."

"Stop feeling sorry for yourself."

But brother Padre was too absorbed in his misery to listen, "I should have fought them, defended the church, at least saved something. Anything would have been better than hiding in a cupboard like some pathetic..."

"There was nothing you could do, there were too many."

"I could have…done…I could have, taken a few of them with me, at least, gone down fighting!" he thought for a moment. "Maybe I would have been made a saint!"

"You're no fighter, you would have been killed in the first instant." she looked at him carefully, "And there's no one left any way, to make you a saint."

"They're all gone."

Niala nodded.

"All of them, there's no faith left." he started to cry again, "No more sermons, no more preaching, choir, people gathered to hear me speak, they're all gone."

The last of the sunshine sank below the horizon, and the empty and desolate hull of the church was plunged into icy darkness. Never more would brother Padre hear the gentle hymns ringing through the rafters, startling the pigeons from their sleep. The organ and the choir and the congregation, lifting their voices to the Authority, in blessed harmony.

All those hundreds of people, listening, intent on his every word, as he preached of the greater good, the end of sin, on how to be kind, and the rewards that were waiting for them, when death came at the end.

Six years he'd been here, Brother Padre of the Constitutional Court of Discipline, ever since he had wandered through into their world. Maybe he could go back, but go back to what? He had never been much in that world, a lowly parish priest in Tiptree, with a small and grumpy congregation of grannies, who had preferred their previous minister, and let him know it.

No, he was not going back, he might not be able to see his beloved Niala again. He looked at her, his beautiful Red Setter. He had always loved dogs, but until he came here, he had never known that he was one. No, he would do anything rather than lose her.

Suddenly, out of the corner of his eye, he saw something flickering. Fire.

Getting up he marched resolutely in its direction. To trash a place in the raging heat of the moment was one thing, but to come back and purposefully burn the bitter remains…well, there couldn't be more than one or two of them. He could take them on. Maybe there was still a chance for that saint hood after all.

With Niala trotting along at his heels, her long fur sweeping out behind her in the breeze, they rounded the corner with every intention of defending their church to the last.

But there was no one there. Only a candle, dancing merrily in the breeze, set up in prayer when church was still attented, unseen before in the day light glare, it was still burning, propped on it side amid the wreckage that was once a stand. Fallen from its place.

Carefully sheltering it against the slight wind, he picked it up and put it back. The only light now left, in a cavern of shadows.

"Sad isn't it?" a voice, slippery as ice, cut through the quiet.

"What?" Brother Padre turned in alarm, "Who's there? Oh, It's you. Yes, very sad."

Father Michael MacPhail stepped out from behind the pillar where he had been regarding brother Padre's activities with contempt.

Like his brother, Father Hugh MacPhail, who had once been the President of the Constitutional Court, he had a lust for power and control. However, unlike his brother, he was merciless. Piercing blue eyes and rich dark hair, every one feared him and his deadly daemon, a black widow who hung from his ear by a single, silvery thread, twirling her eight fine legs in the air, deadly and beautiful.

"So much time and work, destroyed in an instant, by a Dust driven mob." his words dripped like poison, and Brother Padre pushed his candle in more securely, to avoid looking him in the eye.

"Yes, terrible."

"But," he put a comforting hand on his shoulder. Father Padre shivered but did not pull away, "But do not fear, all is not lost. This is just a new beginning, they may have destroyed the shell, and torn down our church, but the heart of our society, Brother, is still alive and well."

Brother Padre looked up at him, he did not trust this man, smiling demonically just outside his ring of light. But what else could he do? Where else was there to go? This was his last and only hope to return to the glory of the past.

"Come Brother, trust me, us men of the cloth should stick together. You don't want to return to how you were before now, do you?" he smiled, his daemon scuttled to the end of his hand, which was still on Father Padre's shoulder and stood poised.

"No, no definitely not."

"Because, you know, you're very important to us." he whispering in his ear, running his fingers across his neck. "Very important."

"Really." replied brother Padre, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"Come join us, Brother, and you could become something even greater, one day."

"Like a saint." a small spark of hope lifted his soul, and he looked eagerly at Niala.

"More."

"More than a…" Brother Padre was already lost, like a child, caught between a dark room and a sweet shop, he walked dazedly out the door.

But as soon as he was past, the serene smile left Father MacPhail's face. Smirking, he looked at the candle, waving slightly in the breeze, glad to be up right again.

Blowing it out, he turned, and swept out after Prey.


	2. Arrival

Disclaimer: The characters I have used for this story are the property of Phillip Pullman and not me. I gain no profit from this story and no offence is intended. to HDMcrazy, i changed it and then my stupid computer changed it back to my origional version. sorry, im updating in a strange order, and by the way, this is father Mac Phails brither Michael, not Hugh Mac Phail, imsorry, i will make it clearer, princessofDR sorry, thankyou for pointing it out mangolady, yes and yes (she stays at St s and has an adventure type thing) thankyou also to Escalade biatch for your review general apology for spelling, my Beta's on holiday. Chapter 2 

The rain was pouring down outside Lyra's window as her carriage trundled through the mud and through the gates of St Sophia's. It was a large school, more like a Hamlet than a house, with old rambling buildings that invited secret passage ways and hidden paths among its shadows, begging to be explored.

The windows however burnt bright and welcoming through the rain, and Lyra pressed her face eagerly against the glass to see it better. Pantalaimon, her daemon, sat curled in her lap, complaing bitterly about the cold.

"I hope the weather's not always like this."

"Don't be so silly Pan, its England, of course its always like this." said Lyra sitting back, "Anyway, the arctic was a lot colder than this, and you survived that fine."

"Yes, but when I was in the arctic I could change in to something with a thicker coat. Pine Martens weren't made for these kind of temperatures"

"Sure they are, you get Pine Martins in England.'

"Hmf," said Pan sulkily, "I still preferred the Mulefa world."

"I wish we could have stayed there too Pan." she said as her eyes glazed over, she watched with out seeing, Pantalaimon in her arms, as the coach drew up among the others near the front door.

"Miss Belaque, we have arrived," said the coachman opening the door for her and holding out an umbrella.

A year ago this would have annoyed Lyra intensely, as she could never stand these tedious formalities and would have enjoyed the rain. But the past year's experiences had matured her and instead she stepped down graciously and followed her coachman, dutifully staying beneath the provided canopy.

However she could not resist taking the muddiest route possible, while Pan, momentarily forgetting that he was supposed to be cold, splashed through puddles at her heels.

"Lyra, Welcome to St Sophia's!" greeted the headmistress warmly from the doorstep, where she had been waiting to greet her and the other girls individually to the school.

Lyra had met her before, when she had come to the school in the summer, and they had got on extremely well. She had reminded Lyra of Mary Malone, kindly, enthusiastic and imaginative. Her daemon was a Green winged Macaw and greeted Pantalaimon amiably despite the thick coat of mud, and Lyra felt instant admiration.

"I am so delighted you decided to come," she said and shook her hand vigorously. "I hope you'll enjoy your time with us, I am sure we will. But I won't keep you out in the cold; go on in, everyone's meeting in the hall for refreshments and I believe cook has excelled herself this evening…Emily, nice to see you back again, how was France?"

Lyra continued into the hall, where the cook had indeed excelled herself in snacks and side dishes making the tables groan beneath their weight, and Lyra, starved after her long journey, fell upon the food without too much regard for manners.

Tearing the meat of a chicken wing, she was regarding the masses around her with a great deal of interest, but with out enough confidence to approach anyone when she heard a high pitched voice from behind her.

"Oh my Goodness, what an animal!'

A girl with a small pinched nose and goggling eyes, and neck far to long for her head was staring down at her, an expression of disgust on her face that did not improve her unfortunate features. Her daemon was a goldfish, swimming relentlessly in circles in the bowl in her hands.

Lyra regarded her for a minute, and turned her back. She had faced Death itself, this stupid snob with a fish, was not worth a retort, despite the several that came to mind.

Obviously thrown by her lack of reaction the girl tried another tactic and plastering what she suppose to be a friendly smile on her face she said.

"Excuse me, I should have introduced myself first." and she pulled what she sadly thought as her trump card. "I'm Lady Edwina Scott of Etchingham. And you are?"

After a short moments consideration she replied sarcastically, "Her Royal Highness Queen Lyra of Jordan." in her best cockney.

Pan, who had been following the hypnotic movements of the fish daemon with his head, looked up at her as if to say this was a bad idea, but Lyra ignored him.

"Oh, a street rat as well as an animal, I'm not sure which is worse!"

"Lyra, let's not make enemy's right away." Pan whispered in her ear.

"She started it Pan." she whispered back, out loud she said, "Better a street rat than stuck up, stupid ponce with a goldfish for a daemon."

"Oooh, someone's a bit touchy!"

But before the Lyra could reply, a small missile of the cook's finest mashed potato flew out from across the table and landed in the fish bowl. With a shriek Lady Edwina tried to scoop it out, but that only caused it to dissolve faster, and she ran, barging her way through the crowds, to the bathroom.

Lyra turned to see who had thrown it. Three girls were standing on the other side of the table, mischievous expressions on their faces. The one nearest her, still brandishing the offending spoon and grinning profusely held out her hand, her robin daemon fluttering to her wrist.

"Hello" hello she said, "I'm Matilda. Sorry about her, she's a dreadful snob, we're not all like that I promise." she turned to the other two and continued animatedly "This is Grace and Khalifa," indicating the girl to her left and her Gazelle daemon "And…"

"Morgan, hello! This is Bealzub." said Morgan, still watching Lady Edwina's retreating back with evident glee. Her enormous daemon panther raised its head at its name and purred at Pantalaimon.

"I'm Lyra and this is Pan, Pantalaimon Nice shot." she said grinning back and shaking their offered hands.

"I've had a lot of practise," replied Matilda with a shrug," We've discovered chocolate cake makes it go wild, but that's right the other end of the room."

"It! You don't know what sex it is?"

"You can't really tell with goldfish." replied Matilda honestly.

They made an odd three as they battered Lyra with questions about her life. Grace was tall and elegant, with perfect brown hair that never once fell out of place. Morgan, on the other hand, had dark hair and was considerably shorter, though just as neat, and Lyra noticed that not a single speck of mud could be seen anywhere on either person. Though Grace was definitely more serene than Morgan, neither was reserved in their greetings, and they both enthusiastically encouraged her to come and meet the rest of their gang.

But it was Matilda who took her arm and insistently led her across the room, talking excitedly about all the things that there were to do at St Sophia's. She herself was short and sturdy, with a pretty face and large, honest eyes, she was instinctively kind and though Lyra felt slightly lost in the vivacious and confident chatter of the gang of girls, Matilda made sure she was never left out.

Later that night, as Lyra lay with Pantalaimon in her dormitory bed, she said.

"You know what Pan?"

"What?" he asked sleepily.

"I think I'm going to like St Sophia's."


	3. The Messiah

Chapter 3 

Years passed, and gradually Lyra's life began to form a regular pattern again. During the week she would work and study on Arabic and History and the other subjects that she was expected to learn. While every Friday evening she would journey to St Sophia's main college to study in Dame Hannah's enormous library, to learn the secrets of the alethiometer.

These were her favourite times of the week, relaxing in an armchair, surrounded by thick books through which she delved, eager to decipher the truth. At first, Dame Hannah had said, it was best to start with questions that you already knew the answer to, so that you could be sure that you had not made any mistakes; questions such as 'where do I live?' or 'what did I have for breakfast?'. But gradually she moved onto harder problems that she did not know the answer to, but would be able to verify after she had worked it out.

"How about," she asked Lyra, who had just finished her latest problem, "you find out who owned your school before we bought it?"

"Aw, that's easy!" said Lyra, basking the lazy summer that poured through the windows, illuminating the dust, "Its that old, fat man who lives in the house at the back."

"Very well then, do you know who he is?"

Lyra shook her head.

"Then you can find that out for me." Dame Hannah said with a smile, and indicated the books. "First you need to work out how to ask the question, and then…"

"I know, I know." Said Lyra, pushing her hair behind her ear, "I've asked this one before."

She had asked the alethiometer this question about Will, so technically if she just held the thought of the fat, old man instead...

Taking a deep breath, she tried to calm her mind using the exercises that she had been taught, and thought hard of the question she wanted to ask.

"No, Lyra, you're asking about a man, not a boy." Corrected Dame Hannah, when she saw how Lyra had arranged the hands.

But the alethiometer had already begun to move in a pattern that Lyra found disturbingly familiar, but from where, she could not quite remember.

"Come on now, let's open the book and find what symbol you need."

Putting the still spinning machine to the side with a sigh, she commenced the long and tedious search for the truth.

Four months later Lyra was able to work out, with help from Dame Hannah, that the fat, old man who lived behind her dorm was in fact an ex-member of the constitutional court and had been forced to sell because of the recent uprising and whose wife had died leaving him one son.

However it would be many years before the familiar pattern she had seen emerged from her subconscious memory. In the mean time, there was plenty to keep her occupied. Not to least the recent antics of the church.

"My dad says that its all just a hoax, the church trying make a come back." Matilda said, relaxing back into the sofa.

"Bit extreme." Said Morgan, "faking a second coming just to get a bit of popularity!"

"I don't know. Lyra here was the second Eve." Said Grace, indicating her, "So why not a second Yesu?"

"Apparently he can walk on water, just like Yesu did."

"Yeah, and he doesn't have a daemon, but he's still normal."

Morgan snorted, "Sounds really normal."

"You know what I mean," said Matilda.

"Well, some people do believe in him. My aunt, for instance, went all the way to Bangladesh to see him speak." Said Grace, "she said she saw him actually bring someone back from the dead."

"Really?"

"Yeah, there was this guy in the audience, really fat, weak heart, who suddenly fell on the floor, dead, halfway through the speech. He was near the front, so aunt Caroline couldn't see him, but she heard later, that Yesu, or whatever, went up and ten seconds later the guy was up and running again."

"How do you they know he was dead?" asked Matilda.

"There was a doctor in the audience, who said he was."

"Bit convenient." Said Persephone entering with Anne, Morgan's closest friend, and completing the group.

"Well, I never said I believed it, I'm just saying that's how it seemed!"

"And I was just saying it was a bit convenient." Replied Persephone, tossing her perfect curls.

"And so Yesu, or whoever, just brought him back!" said Anne, attempting to distract them back to the original conversation.

"Mmm, about ten seconds later he woke up, and started talking about how he had been in a dark tunnel and how this light had brought him back."

"Well he's definitely lying then." Said Lyra, who up until that moment had kept quiet, "I've seen the land of the dead, it looks nothing like a tunnel, light or no light."

She looked up at her the people around her. Persephone had always flat out refused to believe her, on the basis that it undermined too many of her fundamental beliefs. She knew as well that Anne and Morgan had always been sceptical of her story, but then they were sceptical of everything.

"Hey Seph!" said Morgan, eager to diffuse the sudden tension in the air, "What was that you said you absolutely had to tell me earlier?"

"What? Oh that, oh my gosh, I can't believe I forgot!" Said Persephone, subtly turning away from Grace and Lyra and addressing her closer friends.

"What?"

"You know that weird old man who lives in the Lake House at the back, you know, fat, bald, pompous, dead wife."

"Yeah, yeah." Said Matilda with an anxious glance at Grace who was muttering something about 'insensitivity' and 'respect for the dead' to her daemon Khalifa, who was nuzzling her elbow in sympathy.

"Any way, you know he has a son!"

There was an anticipatory silence.

"Well," continued Persephone, her racoon daemon leaping up and down in her lap, "He's coming to live here!"

"No! Really!"

"With his father, right behind our dorm!"

"Oh my gosh, that is so exciting." Said Morgan, mimicking Persephone's tone.

"And that's not all!"

This time there was a silence, as nearly the whole room leaned in to hear what more there could be.

"His father is so happy to be back that," she paused for effect, "He's throwing a massive great ball!"

"You have to be joking!"

"And everyone in the top years at St Sophia's is invited."

After that, all other topics of conversation were wiped out as girls discussed what clothes they were going to wear and who was likely to be there and of course what Sir Humphrey Orion-Parker's son might look like.

But through all of this Lyra drifted like a girl in a dream. Only Matilda seemed to notice the unusual silence in her ordinarily vibrant friend. But she assumed that it was to do with the Messiah and the churches apparent return of power, and tried to console her by correctly pointing out that no one really knew what to think, and that it was all just speculation.

But she was wrong. Though Lyra distrusted the church, she was reluctant to get caught up in it again. But it was easier to allow her to think that, then to try and explain to a load of over excited girls, that she had no interest at all in their conversation.

Despite her and Wills agreement to find other partners, she was still finding it difficult to move on. Even after three years there was not a single night that she did not dream of him and the precious hours that they had spent together, little knowing that her deepest desires were soon to be realised.

Authors note 

_Please, please review. Its not that hard and they really keep me going._


	4. Inheritance

_Thankyou to all my reviewers, this chapter wouldn't have been written without you._

Thankyou to HDMcrazy-no problem, yes, all by myself, incredibly, some subconscoius stroke of genius i never knew i had. Thankyou also to Faige and some anonamous person who demanded to hear from will, Jaimee-what the hell is a potatoe-in-the-waterthing?but thanx for reviewing, and thankyou to Zephdae-Alvin Maker, rings a bell but i cant think from where, ill look him up, terribly flattered all the same.

_And of course an enormous thankyou to my amazing Beta Alice, to whom all the spelling, grammer and general sense of the stroy can be atributed. _

_Diclaimer: Phillip Pullmans characters and situations not mine. _

Chapter 4 

Mrs Delarue was Lyra's nemesis, partly because she was a useless maths teacher, partly because she absolutely adored Edwina but mostly because she was a malicious and stupid woman who always sprung surprise tests when everyone was guaranteed to be distracted.

Like for instance, the day before the ball. The weather seemed to be as discontent as the children, howling winds battered the buildings, making it creak and groan like a wild thing, snow was piled up outside the window, and snow flakes whirled, indistinct behind the frosted glass.

Inside the classroom was freezing as the students sat huddled together in their rows for warmth, the anabaric lighting flickered, making the girls seem haggard and ghost like. In front of them, Mrs Delarue and her obese black rat sat, like a fat queen and her advisor, observing their minions, small piggy little eyes scanning the room, alert to any communications.

Right at the back, Lyra was scraping her way through the complicated algebra problems, reminiscing about Will, when a small scrunched up piece of paper flew four rows from Matilda (where she had been forced to sit after flicking ink at Edwina's back) and landed perfectly on her desk.

_Black or purple?_

Writing her reply as casually as she could, she flicked the note back to her friend.

"Lyra!" whispered Grace in her ear, Khalifa nudging Pan as he dozed on the edge of the chair, "I don't think that's such a good idea."

"Why not?" she whispered back, expertly catching the returned note in her left hand

"You might accidentally throw it onto Mrs Delarue's desk," Grace replied, ever cautious.

"Aw, come on!" Persephone, who was now sitting on Lyra's right, hissed back, "You are talking to the hockey, poleball and lacrosse captain for the last two years. I'm sure she can hit a desk at five metres!"

Lyra ducked her head and shared a look with her daemon. She would be flattered if she didn't know that Persephone was only doing it to annoy Grace.

"I'm just saying Lyra's already in trouble and…" Grace started.

"Oh, stop being such a stick in the mud!" mocked Persephone's, the racoon daemon rolling his eyes.

Lyra sighed as she felt Khalifa kicking Axum, for that was the racoons name, under the table and shook her head; sitting between these two had definitely not been a good idea.

She read Matilda's message, and blocking out the quietly raging argument aound her, she paused and replied: _Because I'm still in love with Will._

"I'm just being cautious, that's all," continued Grace.

"If Lyra wants to pass notes, that's her look out," Persephone retorted.

"Just 'cos some people don't look out for their friends, doesn't mean everyone…"

Just then their bickering was broken by an unwelcome screech.

"Oh! Mrs Delarue! Matilda and Lyra have been passing notes." Mrs Delarue looked up at the smug Edwina waving the incriminating paper.

"Tell-tale!" muttered Matilda as Mrs Delarue slowly reached across the table and treating Edwina to a regal smile, she opened it up.

Lyra and Pan watched in horror as a malicious and self satisfied smile crossed their teacher's face, barely noticing the death glares that passed between Persephone and Grace.

"You can't read that!" Lyra said heatedly, while her pine marten bared its teeth. "It's private!"

"I hardly think you're in a position, Miss Belaque," replied Mrs Delarue, in her sarcastic drawl, "To tell me what I can and cannot do."

And she began to read it out, the fat, black rat by her side snearing at Pantaliamon.

"Black or purple. I haven't decided yet. It's tomorrow; you really aren't excited about this are you? No. Why. Because I'm still in love with Will."

Lyra let out a growl, Pantalaimon arched his back, furious that their deepest thoughts could be so casually exposed.

" How sweet!" Mrs Delarue chuckled at Lyra's evident anger. "Lyra's got a boyfriend!"

"What happened? Did he dump you?" Edwina called.

Lyra stood up glaring at them, "Will wou'n't never dump me! Cos he ain't my boyfriend, and never will be!" she shouted defensively, her cockney accent coming out in her anger.

"Well, don't take it out on us then." replied Edwina looking disdainfully down her nose, "Your failed love life is no business of ours!"

"Poor, rejected Lyra!" interjected Gertie, one of Edwina's lapdogs.

"Shut up." Lyra screamed, making some of the girls take a step back, as unbeknownst to Lyra, a terrifying energy, not unlike Mrs Coulters, overwhelmed them, sending shivers down their daemons spines, "You have no idea what you're talking about."

"Young lady! Control your anger!" said Mrs Delarue, leaping up with an astonishing speed and slamming her hands onto the desk, Stalin leaping across the classroom to stand before Pan.

But the gibe at Will had been too much, her anger getting the better of her, she pushed over the desk on which Stalin had landed, screaming back, "and you can go to Hell, you idiotic, ignorant, useless excuse for a teacher…"

"How dare you!" gasped Mrs Delarue, in a dangerously quiet voice, her daemons red eyes sparkling menacingly.

But Lyra did not notice. She was unstoppable, all the pent up despair and anger at losing Will was coming to the surface, as Pantalaimon shrieked and barked and snapped at the teacher's daemon, chasing it around the room; Matilda and Morgan taking advantage of the distraction to slip ink into Edwina's fish bowl.

Predictably, the commotion ended with Edwina being sick, Morgan and Matilda getting detention, and Lyra being sent to the headmistress by an enraged Mrs Delarue, heatedly announcing she was going to expel them all.

Throwing her books into her bag, as her friends whispered their luck, Lyra high tailed it out the classroom and into the corridor from where she was frog marched into the headmistress' office by Edwina (who had sufficiently recovered) and her friend Gertie.

"Mrs Haines!" Edwina announced, dragging Lyra into the room, "Mrs Delarue wants you to expel Lyra because I caught her passing notes."

"Miss Scott! Can't you see I'm in the middle of a meeting?" the Headmistress frowned, her beautiful green-winged macaw soaring around her head, "And we don't expel people for passing notes."

"And she insulted the teacher," added Gertie, to which Edwina nodded, "And he…" she pointed an accusing finger at Pantalaimon who tried (and failed miserably) to look innocent, "He attacked her daemon."

"Well, thank you for bringing this to my attention, but if you would be so kind," she said impatiently, indicating the door.

Edwina opened and shut her mouth a few times, feeling distinctly put out. Lyra and Gertie however, aking the hint, started to make their way out of the room, Lyra's shoulders sagging in relief.

"Actually, Lyra, would you stay behind for a moment?"

Lyra turned like a prisoner back into jail, determinedly ignoring the self-satisfied expressions of the other two as they walked out scot-free, and took a tentative seat in front of Mrs Haines' desk.

"I'm sorry, Mrs Haines, really I am," she said, trying to look as apologetic as possible, while Pan curled himself up in attempt to appear sorry, "I wont do it again, I promise!"

"Don't make promises you wont keep," she said with a smile, "Though, of course, insulting your teacher is not to be encouraged and will of course have to be punished." Here she gave Lyra a reprimanding look, "But we have more important things to attend to. I was going to come and fetch you after classes had finished, but seeing as you're here now. Lyra, I would like to introduce Mrs Coulter's lawyer, Mr Trugar."

It was then that Lyra noticed that she was not the only person in the room. On a chair on the other side of the clutter huddled an old man, with long pianist's fingers, his daemon a chameleon at his side.

When he saw her looking he nodded and managed to wheeze out a, "Miss Coulter."

Lyra opened her mouth in astonishment and looked over at Mrs Haines, who was smiling amusedly, her pen set aside.

"Mr Trugar, this is Mrs Coulter's daughter, Lyra Belaque."

"Miss Belaque." The lawyer nodded his head again, holding his coat around him as though he was cold, completely nonplussed at his mistake.

"Lyra," Mrs Haines turned to her, "You've just inherited Mrs Coulters fortune."

"What!" Lyra just stared in shock.

"Or what's left of it, once the church has been through with it," Mrs Haines said as she held out a piece of paper, covered in carefully curled letters. "They were most upset that she didn't leave it to them, so they've been doing backwards somersaults to claim as much as they can for damages and criminal activity and so forth, so there isn't much actual capital left."

"Un ha?" Lyra and Pan looked at each other, expressions of equal confusion plastered across their faces.

"Well, anyway. I won't bother reading the whole thing out to you, but I made a copy if you want to have a look?" she passed over the paper she had been working on when Lyra had first come in. "Basically, she's left everything to you, including her flat in London and all its contents. There was also a nice country house in Geneva, but I believe that it's been seized already."

"Oh right," Lyra said while her head reeled as it took in this new information, it was, after all, not everyday that you came into a fortune. "Will I have to live there?"

"Goodness, no!" she replied, "Not unless you particularly want to, of course?"

Lyra shook her head adamantly.

"I didn't think so. No, I suggest you sell it and add to the small sum that your mother already left you. Which is the reason I called you," continued Mrs Haines.

"Mr Trugar here fears for his health, and the doctors say he might not be here come Christmas, so time is of the essence!" Mr Trugar nodded his head and coughed again, as though to prove his point, "I thought perhaps you could go down to London tomorrow morning and sort out anything you'd like to keep or sell, then catch the last Zeppelin up in time for the ball. What do you think?"

"Sounds great!" said Lyra, eyes brightening at the prospect of going to London again.

"Good!" the macaw flapped his wings decisively. "Now if you don't mind, Lyra, I am afraid we have a mountain of paperwork to get through. Mr Trugar, if you would be so kind?"

The next morning dawned bright, crisp and clear, the snow from the night before, covering the ground, as two excited girls and one old man made their way from the Aërodrøme into London. The city was just starting to awake, stalls were being set up, the snow was being swept off the streets, shops were being opened and the first customers were already arriving, rubbing their hands to keep warm.

Street urchins, much like Lyra's childhood friends, galloped through the streets, shouting and calling to each other, as they played and fought in their own complicated politics.

The rich and the famous did not brave the freezing smaller hours of London, still lying warm in their beds, recovering from the night activities. The only evidence of their existence was the fat nannies waddling their way through the park, the precious heirs and heiresses bundled in their prams, sound in their grasp.

The street on which Mrs Coulters flat lay was no exception and was filled with the lazy quiet of slumbering residents; the only movement being a large ginger tom out prowling his icy territory.

"I don't know how you managed all these stairs!" said Matilda, as Lyra swung her way around the banisters at neck breaking speed, and continued up.

"You didn't have to come if you didn't want to," said Lyra, stopping to wait for her friend.

"I guess I just couldn't resist missing double maths!" came the cheerful reply.

Lyra grinned at her, "Did you see the look on her face when we told her we would both be going!"

"Moral support! Her dead mother's house, you know, could be very traumatic!"

The girls giggled at their small victories and waited by the door for Mr Trugar, as he gasped and wheezed up the last flight of stairs.

Inside was much as she remembered it: the same gold and white striped wall paper and heavy gilt frames of peaceful forest scenes, floral lampshades and thick plush carpets, delicate harlequins and china boxes. There was even the same heavy perfume that her mother had used to wear; leaving ghost-like trails of her scent everywhere she had passed. The expensive glass-wear and plates still sat, delicately piled in their place, waiting patiently for the return of their mistress. The flowers in the window were just brown stalks, old and dead from neglect. This home was, like the others of its class, still sound asleep. However, unlike the others, it would never again be woken, but packed away and split up, like the particles of the dead.

Lyra was suddenly glad that Matilda had come with her.

"Is it as you remembered?" asked Matilda.

Lyra thought for a moment. "It's not as glamorous and it's smaller."

"That's probably because you've grown." muttered Matilda.

"And I'm still considered short, you're just abnormally small," said Lyra before shrieking as Matilda threw a cushion at her. "I'm joking, I'm joking. You're right, you're the perfect height, and it's the rest of the world that's too tall."

Her friend's pride satisfied, the two girls got to work on the tedious job of sorting the entire contents of the house into what they would keep, what they would sell and what they would throw away.

Five hours later, they were still only half way through, and decided to call a lunch break. Mr Trugar left, on the assurance that they would be perfectly all right on their own, to eat in the nearby pub, while the girls settled down to ready-made sandwiches from the cook on the floor.

"Well, let's continue then, shall we?" asked Matilda when they had finished.

"Ugh!" groaned Lyra, lying back on the bed. "Let's wait until Mr Trugar gets back."

"Do you want to miss the ball or something?" asked Matilda getting up and starting to open the cupboards.

"Well I don't have anything to wear…" started Lyra.

"Yes you do, you have tons of stuff."

"And I've got detention tomorrow, so I should really get some sleep tonight," Lyra finished.

"So have I!" Matilda threw open the final door in exasperation, "So stop making excuses and…Oh my! Lyra!"

"What?" Lyra shot off the bed to her friend's side, to see what she was looking at. "Bloody Hell!"

It was indeed an impressive sight; there was row upon row of dresses and coats, racks of shoes and boots propped underneath and seven tier shelves piled high with hats and headdresses. Silk and velvet, suede and fur, every colour under the rainbow shimmered with beads and feathers. There were suits and skirts and gowns of every style and for every occasion, and all of it now belonged to Lyra.

"Why does she have so much stuff?" asked Matilda in awe, walking down between the racks and pulling out a dress at random.

"She didn't like to be seen in the same dress twice," replied Lyra, dragging out the information from all those years ago.

"Well, you know what," said Matilda, wistfully swirling around with the dress in front of the mirror, "I bet you could find a ball gown in here!"

"I think there might just be enough to find gowns for both of us!" said Lyra.

However, after trying on several different shaped dresses and skirts, it was realised that Matilda, who had been five foot one age twelve and had not grown since, was not going to fit into any of Mrs Coulter's clothes.

"Ah well!" she sighed, looking longingly at the beautiful garments on the bed, "Never mind."

Looking at her dejected friend, Lyra suddenly had an idea and, dashing from the room, she came back five minuets later with an enormous box.

"I didn't think she kept them, but when I stayed with her, my mother bought me absolutely loads of clothes; they should be about your size," Lyra said, holding out the box, "An early birthday present for you."

"Oh no! Lyra, these are much too nice, I couldn't!" exclaimed Matilda as she carefully emptied the box.

"Well, they aren't going to fit me any more!"

So the two girls settled down to the incongruous pleasure of trying on clothes. Lyra discovered that Mrs Coulters' ball gown collection was quite extensive, and that her biggest problem was having too much choice. Matilda, however, with her slightly smaller range found what she wanted relatively quickly.

She chose the dress Lyra had worn to the Arctic Convention, made of a pale blue-green silk called Eau de Nil, with a deep square neck, drop waist and three quarter length sleeve. It was studded with silver beads that shimmered as she moved. Unfortunately there were no shoes that fitted her, but she had brought the cream high-heels from her original outfit that went very nicely.

Lyra on the other hand was finding it very difficult to decide. She had narrowed the choices down to three items; a close fitting dark red dress, a silver one that fell nicely off the shoulders and full length midnight blue velvet ball gown with a full skirt and petticoat that Matilda loved but in which Lyra felt ridiculous.

"Which one?" she asked in exasperation, holding them up against herself in the full-length mirror.

Matilda sighed, and started to do her make up from Mrs Coulter's cosmetics at the side table, "Like I said, I think the blue with those pearls looks absolutely gorgeous, despite what you say."

"Okay," said Lyra throwing it onto the bed, "Forget that one for a moment, out of these two."

"Oh, I don't know, it's your dress, you decide."

Lyra sighed and looked between them. "I'm going for another look," she decided, and disappeared into the wardrobe again.

Matilda and her daemon shared a glance. At this rate they were going to miss their flight.

Twittering, her daemon picked up a simple chain with a delicate Celtic cross hanging in the middle.

"Hey Lyra, can I borrow a necklace?" she called.

"Sure," Lyra's muffled reply came back.

"Perfect!" she said and hung it round her neck. Putting the finishing touches to her make up, she admired the final effect. Very good, that necklace really did set the dress off, gave it a certain air of royalty and power.

"Okay, I've decided," announced Lyra, coming through the door.

Matilda's eyes flew open in amazement at the person who stood before her, and the change that the dress had made over her friend.

The dress was of black silk with a drop waist similar to Matilda's, and a sash that ended with a circular, silk buckle over her right hip. Beneath it, the skirt slit to reveal a fine, pleated chiffon underskirt that frothed out, a pale coffee colour. Around the low scoop neck, petals of the same shade poured over the rim, and continued around her slim shoulders where the dress did not.

Long gloves of a slightly darker tone of brown enclosed her arms gave her such an air of refinement that no one who saw her could believe that she had once run around the streets like a wild cat, hurling mud from the clay pits.

Both girls decided to leave their hair down, Lyra's shining bright in the darkness as they made their way to the ball, leaving Mr Trugar with instructions to send the clothes to Jordan and Colby-on-sea (where Matilda lived) and to sell the rest.

The bright morning had turned into a clear night, with a full moon reflected off the snow and lit up the drive to the Hall where the dancing was to take place. Small anabaric lights filled the trees like fairy lights, marking the way, and despite her previous disinterest, Lyra could not restrain her anticipation.

Together they walked among the other girls and boys, barely noticing the appraising glances that followed them, so entranced with the colours and grandeur. Pantalaimon, his coat washed and brushed, luxuriously soft, moved liquid like at Lyra's heels; his nose perked up, betraying his excitement.

But other people noticed them, especially Lyra, the blonde with intense brown eyes who flew through the other guests, with such unconscious grace.

"Oh Matilda! You look wonderful!" exclaimed Grace, running over and giving her a hug, not looking far off stunning herself in floor length pink silk. "And Lyra, wow!"

But Lyra wasn't listening, deaf to her friends; she didn't even notice Persephone's jealous acerbic comments. She was transfixed on one person in the middle of the room, her blood running hot and cold as that familiar, dear face turned towards her.

"Will!"

Sorry to leave u on a cliffhanger like that but…


	5. Will

I disclaim. Pullman wrote Dark Materials. Thankyou to the person who refused to leave their name. Your review made me write this chapter, as I had previously given up on the bases of too much work. I don't write unless i have reviews to nag me into it. So if you want me to finish REVIEW! Chapter 4 

William Orion Parker leaned against the balcony and surveyed the swarming mass of guests below. It made him nauseous just watching them, bright colors and frills; the ridiculous hairstyles that were all the rage, the noise of them all chattering and chattering, like seagulls.

His daemon Fiana laid her head against his leg, her bright blue eyes, he knew, were watching him, but he did not turn.

"Your father would want you to socialize." She said.

Will didn't reply, he just continued to stare at the crowd, he could see his father near the top, lounging against the food table, red in the face with laughter and wine. He was in his element, clapping old friends on the back, making astute introductions, flattering the right ears that he could be sure to reap the benefits later; utterly happy, unlike Will. He had none of his father's charm or social grace.

"After his mothers death he's just never been the same!" people said, "went into himself, never got over it."

That was all people did: gossip, never a mind for anything bigger. There they were, all down there, probably talking about him. How unlike his father, how anti-social just standing there and watching. But they had no idea, no idea what…

"Will! Stop it!" his daemon sensing his train of thought dug her claws into his foot, "Lets go down. Just to make an appearance, then I promise we'll leave, ok?"

Will sighed and turned, his eyes, an identical color to Fiana's darkened with resolve as he descended the sweeping staircase to the floor.

It was as bad as he had anticipated. Everyone was keen to meet the dark haired mysterious youth. Mothers especially when they learned who his father was. They were falling over themselves to introduce their darling Bernadette, their eldest Veronica, my sweet little Gertrude. But met with matching ice blue stares, from the boy and the small, fierce mountain lion at his side, they were almost as eager to escape.

After being left to entertain a particularly irritating girl called Edwina who was trying desperately to make up for his silence by reeling off every detail of her meaningless life, he was starting to feel that his fathers wrath could almost be more welcome, when he turned to see storming towards him, eyes burning into his and walking so purposefully that the crowd literally parted before her, a blonde girl and her red furred daemon. At first he thought she was fleeing from the high table, as he noticed some of his fathers friends watching her and her friends, but the next moment he forgot it entirely as she threw her arms around him and kissed him.

"I told you it wasn't Kirjava!" said Pan, nuzzling her ear.

"Shut up Pan!" replied Lyra. She was now certain that dying from embarrassment was, however desirable, utterly impossible, and she started to plot alternative methods. Like diving headfirst off the wall she was sitting on into the forest below. It was not just the humiliation that hurt, it was losing Will all over again. The utter devastation of having her hopes raised and dashed to pieces again.

Pantalaimon wrapped himself around her neck and licked at her tears, making comforting "I told you so" noises.

She heard a scrabbling noise behind her, and turned to see Matilda pulling herself up onto the wall next to her, followed by Morgan's daemon.

"Sorry I took so long, there was some sales-guy on the doorstep who was most insistent. How are you?" she said, wrapping her arm around Lyra's shoulders and pulling her against her.

The humanless daemon panther settled on her other side, paws crossed. "Morgan sends you her sympathies but she refuses to climb the wall, she says it would ruin her dress."

"Typical Morgan!" sniffed Lyra.

"So, do you want to know who you just pounced on?" asked Matilda tentatively.

"Not Will." She said miserably.

"Well not exactly," said Matilda, "His name is Will. William Orion-Parker. His dad is Sir Humphrey Orion-Parker."

"Oh god, it didn't think it could get worse." Said Lyra burying her head in her hands.

"You just kissed the most eligible young man in the county." Said Morgan's daemon, "Its not that bad."

"Now everyone's going to think…oh my god!" Lyra almost cried. She could put up with a lot, but like her father she was proud, and being embarrassed was not something she was good at coping with.

"They'll be talking about you for years now." Said the panther, "You've successfully made every money aspiring, social climber intensely jealous."

"You're not helping." Said Matilda, as she turned back to Lyra "It's not that bad. And why would we care what every stupid, frilly wannabe Lady Orion-bloody-Parker thinks of you anyway?"

"I object to you generalizing frilly dress wearers!" said the panther, flicking his tail, "Just because we care about what we wear doesn't mean that's all we think about!"

The three daemons and the two humans stared out across the forest, the moon had slipped behind a cloud, barely giving enough light for the girls to see each other by, let alone to see the figure approaching along the wall until he was practically on top of them. Their daemons sensed him though, and the panther growled menacingly though he was too lazy to get up.

"Hi." Will stood, looking down at the group. The two girls were covered in grass stains, their dresses ripped in places, and the one who had kissed him had mascara trails down her cheeks, but she met his eyes defiantly, her red pine Martin snarling at his daemon, which sat directly in front of him and stared back. Neither moved, and he could feel the tension building.

"What do you want?" asked Lyra. Seeing him again he didn't look so much like her Will. His eyes were blue not green, he was more nervous, standing there awkwardly, staring at his feet. Her Will was never like that, he always knew what to do. But still, they were very similar.

"Erm." Will sighed; he might as well get straight to the point. "Why did you do that?"

Lyra, looked away over the forest. "I thought you were someone else."

"Oh!" Will fidgeted, "Sorry I'm not them."

"I guess I forgive you." Lyra hooked her arm around Pan and brought him close. "You can go now."

"These are my grounds up to and including the wall." Said Will, trying to stall for time until he could think of something constructive to say, "You can't dismiss me."

"I bloody well can if I want." Girl and daemon snarled back, and Will felt his daemon's claws uncurl. "You stuck up …go back to your party, I'm sure you wouldn't want to disappoint all your pretty little heiresses"

Will didn't move, he just glared at her in a way that made her think even more of Will. "Or maybe you're just hiding out here because you're people shy. All those low cut frocks getting you over excited?"

"You don't know what you're talking about." His eyes went almost white with fury, "None of you ever do. All you do is talk but you never have anything of interest to say. I'm sorry for your mistake. Goodbye." He got up and bowed sardonically, "I hope you enjoy the rest of the party."

Lyra watched him stride off, keeping his balance perfectly, his daemons soft grey-brown fur fading into the mist, with only the bold stripe along her back distinguishing her from the sky. She told herself she wasn't sorry to see him go.

Suddenly a scream tore through the forest, sending a flock of crows, shrieking into the night.

"Morgan" the panther flung himself from sitting position into the forest below, and in a half fall, half jump she landed with a faint thump below. Matilda and Lyra followed as fast bas they could, but when they reached the bottom it was too late.

Morgan was lying in a heap on the ground, her neck at an awkward angle, the panther lying in shared agony at her side; her attacker was nowhere in sight.

Matilda ran over to her, "Lyra go and get help, I'll stay with her."

Lyra ran in the direction of the house, Pan's night vision guiding her. But where could she find help? Where there any doctors at the party? Where was the nearest medical college? In Oxford she would know who to call, what to do, but she didn' t know this place. She needed someone who did.

"Will! Will!" she saw him walking along the avenue to the house.

Hearing her he turned. "What? Come to throw more insults?"

"No, look I'm sorry." Lyra panted, coming in line with him, "My friend she got attacked, she's hurt her neck, she might be dying, I don't know. Help."

"Come with me." Said Will, and he led her into the house. In the trees a small black spider watched, waiting for her prey. 


End file.
